


Called to No Account for His Crimes

by Annaelle



Category: Knives Out (2019), We Have Always Lived in the Castle - Shirley Jackson
Genre: Author Has Seen Knives Out Four Times Already, Author regrets nothing, Getting Back Together, M/M, Oops, Post-Knives Out, Prison, Spoilers for Knives Out, also oops, getting away with murder, i did a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: So I... I don't even know what happened, man.Enjoy.Love, Annaelle
Relationships: Charles Blackwood/Hugh "Ransom" Drysdale, Charles Blackwood/Ransom Thrombey
Comments: 18
Kudos: 122





	Called to No Account for His Crimes

**Author's Note:**

> So I... I don't even know what happened, man. 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**Called To No Account For His Crimes**

**"He was so effectually screened by his great wealth that he was called to no account for his crimes, not even for murder."**

**—Harriet Ann Jacobs**

Alright.

Alright, so this hadn’t been a part of his plans, and it certainly hadn’t been his intention to actually go to prison, but here he was, waiting for his incompetent _fuck_ of a lawyer to get him out on bail, at the very least. He’d been given a cell to himself, because even in here, people seemed to understand that certain classes of people just didn’t mix.

“Drysdale,” the guard outside his cell barked. “Get up. You got a visitor.”

Ransom frowned.

After his mother and father had visited him after he’d first been sent here, he hadn’t had any visitors other than the lawyer his father had arranged for him because ‘no son of his was going to jail for killing the help’. Of course, that’d been before his mother had confronted his father about cheating on her and promptly kicked him out on his ass—which, _fair enough_.

“Who?” He demanded, but the guard just shrugged, clasping the handcuffs around his wrists none-too-gently and nudging him in the back so he’d start walking.

He grumbled wordlessly about the injustice of it—honestly, all he’d done was try to defend his inheritance, his _family_ from losing everything their grandfather had built for them to some jumped up _girl_ just because his grandfather suddenly decided to grow a conscience.

“Here you go,” the guard chuckled, shoving him towards one of the private rooms for conjugal visits, before turning him around roughly to unlock the handcuffs.

“Enjoy your hour, pretty boy, that’s all you’re getting for a _while_.”

“What?” Ransom demanded, swiveling around to glare wide-eyed at the man, confused more than anything else—it wasn’t like he was married; there was no reasonable way _anyone_ would’ve been able to convince these straight-laced _assholes_ to let him have a conjugal visit, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for one either.

The guard didn’t answer, and shoved him forward through the open door before slamming it shut behind him, and Ransom could hear the distinctive _click_ of the lock activating.

“What the—” He turned, catching sight of the lone other occupant of the room and fell silent. “ _Charles_?”

Charles Blackwood leaned back against the opposite wall, casually lounging there in his impeccable white shirt and sinfully tight dark wash jeans and undoubtedly hideously expensive leather shoes, looking for all the world like he was waiting for Ransom in a bar rather than in a grimy room in a prison where _far_ too many people had likely done it up against that very wall.

Ransom shuddered a little in revulsion.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Charles drawled, raising one perfect, _infuriating_ eyebrow at him.

Ransom barely suppressed the urge _growl_ at that annoying, perfectly _handsome_ piece of shit. They’d dated for a while—for almost half a decade—before Charles had gotten wind that some of his cousins still lived and were in charge of the family fortune. Ransom had nearly gotten whiplash with how fast Charles had decided that their relationship was no longer in his best interest—he’d moved out within four days.

Like he’d never been there at all.

Ransom hadn’t seen hide nor hair from him since.

Until now.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He spat. “Come to gloat?”

Charles stayed silent for a while, eyeing Ransom with an unreadable expression before he sighed. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded quietly. “You know they’re trying to push for the death penalty, right? You conspired to kill your grandfather, killed the help, _confessed_ to it, like an _idiot_ , and then tried to _kill_ that nurse _in front of_ two police officers!” His voice grew louder with each word, until he was shouting, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with a frustrated anger.

“Why do you _care_?” Ransom shouted back, because _no one_ got his blood boiling like this _asshole_ , and he’d been itching for a good fight since he’d tried to stab Marta. “I was doing everything I could to keep my inheritance! _You_ , of all people, should understand that.”

Charles scoffed and stomped forward to poke his finger against Ransom’s shoulder aggressively. “Don’t start that—it’s been five years, _get over it_! And I didn’t try to _kill_ anyone—Merricat and Constance just needed a little _convincing_ , not _murder_!”

“If he hadn’t tried to _disown_ me, I wouldn’t have had to do this either!” Ransom shouted back.

“Oh, you poor man,” Charles rolled his eyes. “What, were you afraid you’d actually have to _work_ for a living?”

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Ransom spat. “Eat my shit, Blackwood.”

Charles smiled pleasantly and said, “I’d much rather eat your ass, but hey—everyone’s got their own—”

Ransom surged forward to… to _punch_ the smug son of a bitch—with his lips. Charles laughed against his lips, but he kissed back just as furiously, as _angrily_ , as hungrily, and Ransom had forgotten how _good_ it was with him, had forgotten how _sweet_ Charles sounded when Ransom bit at his lower lip—

“I’ve missed you,” Charles hummed, hands curling possessively around Ransom’s hips, fingers clutching at him with an iron grip. “My gorgeous, beautiful _baby_.”

Ransom shoved him away abruptly, _seething_ , glaring at the other man furiously. “ _Don’t_ call me that. I’m not _your anything_ , Blackwood. You walked out on that, and you’re not just getting it back.”

Charles just smiled and pressed closer, slipping his hands up across Ransom’s shoulders and down to his back, finally coming to rest on the swell of his ass before he abruptly pulled their hips together, and Ransom couldn’t quite hide his reaction to the realization that Charles was as hard for him as he was.

Shit.

“You sure, _baby_?” Charles taunted, grinning wickedly as he ground his hips against Ransom’s.

“Up yours,” Ransom hissed back, although he was fighting a losing battle and he knew it.

“Well,” Charles chuckled, “I thought we’d start with up _yours,_ baby, but let’s see where this takes us, yeah?” Ransom was still trying to think of a clever reply to that when Charles smashed their lips together again, and ultimately decided not to fight—if the guard was right, if Charles was right, this was the last time he was going to get to do this for _a while_.

He wound his arms around Charles and let the other man tackle him backwards onto the bed. His breath hitched despite himself when Charles just powered on, fingers fumbling at the cord holding the cheap cotton trousers up for a second before giving up and slipping his hands up Ransom’s shirt, cupping his pecs and flicking his thumbs over his nipples.

 _Fuck_ , that was hot.

Privately, Ransom had always kind of liked being bossed around a little in bed, regardless of his complete and utter inability to listen and adhere to any sort of authority in all other aspects of his life, and he really couldn’t help how his legs just kind of fell open for Charles to step between. 

He keened when Charles tightened his fingers in his hair, shooting sparks of pleasure down his spine, dragging his head to the side and breaking their kiss to mouth his way down Ransom’s jaw and neck. He paid particular attention to the little spot just beneath Ransom’s jaw that had him practically melting into a puddle, the sensation of Charles’s infuriatingly _talented_ lips against his feverishly hot skin and the solidness of his body pressing into him, _surrounding_ him almost too much—but not nearly enough.

He fucking _hated_ that Charles still _knew_ him, still knew where to touch him, still _exceptionally_ talented at finding every single one of Ransom’s weaknesses.

 _Fuck_ , but Ransom had missed this. Sex. With Charles. 

“You should—” He gasped as Charles scraped his teeth across his earlobe, fingers digging into Charles’s biceps. “—you should really take off your clothes.”

Charles laughed huskily against him, and Ransom shivered but pressed back into the touch when Charles’s hand slipped down from where his fingers were tangled in Ransom’s hair to cradle the back of his head. “That’s a great idea. You start.”

Charles didn’t let up, though, and didn’t give Ransom a chance to pull on either of their clothes. Instead, his lips occupied Ransom’s again in a downright _filthy_ kiss. Ransom couldn’t even bring himself to care about the possibility of someone watching them, or about how many people had done it on this mattress too, because Charles was crawling on top of him, pressing up against him, and he could barely remember how to _breathe_.

He groaned against Charles’s lips when the other man rolled his hips down, slipping one leg up and around his hip, and sliding his hands beneath his shirt and then up, marveling at the fact that he could feel Charles’s warm skin beneath his palms and could feel the twitch of the other man’s muscles as he dragged his blunt nails across the older man’s back.

They grappled for control for a while, eventually managing to divest Ransom from most of his dreadful orange jumpsuit and Charles of his shirt, while feverishly attempting to unbutton his trousers without breaking the kiss. “ _Charles_ ,” he whined, slipping his hands down Charles’s back to his bottom, pulling his hips down to grind on his and _fuck_ —

“I fucking love you,” Charles panted, teeth scraping across Ransom’s collar bone before he soothed over the abused skin with his tongue as he grinded himself against Ransom’s _painful_ hard-on. “I am _never_ letting you go, _baby_. You’re _mine_.”

“Fuck you,” Ransom croaked, unexpectedly feeling overwhelmed when he realized that he was with _Charles_ , that Charles wanted this, _him_ , too, still. “You made me _miss you_ ,” he whispered, almost involuntarily, and it still _hurt_ , knowing that he’d been missing Charles while Charles had been off having the time of his life without him, even though there was nothing he could do to change it anymore.

Charles stilled above him for a moment, and Ransom was, admittedly, a little terrified he’d pull away before Charles shifted, planting an arm on either side of Ransom’s head. “I’m right here,” he breathed, leaning down to press an uncharacteristically chaste kiss to Ransom’s jaw. “I’m here, baby.”

Ransom shuddered and exhaled shakily, his eyes slipping shut for a short moment as he got himself back under control and focused on the familiar feel of Charles’s body pressed against his. “Kiss me again,” he demanded when his eyes opened again, heart pounding in his chest when he caught the heated look in Charles’s eyes as he drew Ransom’s hands up until they were above his head.

“Keep them there,” Charles told him, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide before he leaned in for a slower, deeper kiss than before. Ransom’s eyes fluttered shut as Charles slid his tongue along his own in an erotic dance that made his head spin and his heart stutter.

 _Yes_ sir.

\-------

Later, when they were done and the sweat was cooling on their skin, Charles said, “I’m going to give you an alibi. I was there, with you, the entire time. You and your grandfather argued because he found out we were back together. You were cut out of the will because he didn’t want you to be with a man. You were coerced into confessing by that ridiculous private detective and you’re going to argue temporary insanity for the attack on the nurse.”

Ransom blinked. “I still killed Fran.”

“Nope,” Charles said. “You were with me and my cousins, having a delightful breakfast where I introduced you to my family. You couldn’t have done it, there’s several witnesses that can corroborate where you were at the time of the murder.”

Ransom looked at him quietly for a bit. “Why?”

Charles smiled back. “Oh, baby. I was _always_ gonna come back for you. I’m not letting you slip through my fingers now. They have no concrete evidence beyond your confession, which is easy enough to refute.” He trailed his fingers across Ransom’s naked torso. “You’re going to move in with me once we get you out, and we’ll figure out a way to get the little nurse to give you a cut of the inheritance.”

“No,” Ransom said, surprising himself too. “No. She outplayed me. I don’t want it.”

Charles chuckled. “So, what? I’m going to be supporting you now? Be your sugar daddy?”

Ransom snorted and poked at the other man. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t _love_ that, you asshole.”

Charles laughed and rolled back on top of him, leaning in to kiss him almost _sweetly_.

Ransom frowned. They didn’t _do_ sweet—they fucked and they argued and they kissed like it was a competition and it _was_. “Don’t go soft on me now,” he growled, bucking up against Charles. “Put your back into it. If I have to go back into that _horribly_ drab room in a few minutes, I want to feel that you fucked me until the next time you visit.”

Charles grinned manically, and obliged.

Ransom grinned in satisfaction—looked like everything was going to work out for them after all.


End file.
